


Feels like home.

by anonemones



Series: anon made a papyrus au [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A Lot of Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Death, Depression, Gen, Hallucinations, I have no idea why, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Original Character Death(s), Papyrus Knows More Than He Lets On, Papyrus Needs A Hug, Papyrus Remembers Resets, Papyrus-centric, Post-Undertale Genocide Route, Sad Papyrus, i always make papyrus suffer, i made an au bc reasons, papyrus talks to himself a lot, this is my au btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonemones/pseuds/anonemones
Summary: Knock knock.Who's there?You.You who?You're not.(an au in which sans takes the hit for papyrus in the genocide run and papyrus hides instead of fighting the human.)





	Feels like home.

It’s cold. It always is in Snowdin, but today is a particularly chilled afternoon, and whereas most days are drowned out with the warmth of the residents in town and the friendliness they hold, the town is enraptured instead by silence. The wind blows, snow drifting onto the main road, rustling the leaves on nearby trees and slipping into homes through cracks in the windows and walls.

It’s quiet. But that’s to be expected, given that everyone’s either dead or gone.

Dust mixes with the snow beneath Papyrus’s boots, indistinguishable and forgettable. He’s not positive who’s dust it is; it could be a number of monsters, really, all of whom were his friends, or that he knew at the least. But really, given the scene in front of him now, he knows that’s just wishful thinking.

His brother’s hoodie _is_ lying right at his feet, after all.

_Sans…_

Papyrus can’t move. He can’t see; his vision already blurring with tears. He’s frozen, suffocating, his soul pounding against his rib cage. His thoughts run together, bleeding into incoherent jumbles of words, leaving him reeling and disoriented.

_The human stands still before him, covered in dust. Smile affixed to their face, they stare him down, waiting, their red eyes piercing his very core. The two of them stand alone in the clearing, leaving Papyrus vulnerable, open. Terrified._

_Papyrus is not a stupid monster, nor is he naïve. He knows a murderer when he sees one, and he knows what monster remains look like. He’s aware that people are not always what they seem, and, given that the proof is in plain sight, it’s obvious the human is dangerous._

_But…he also knows that people don’t hurt others for no reason._

_He can’t argue that perhaps it’s foolish of him to think this friendly façade of his will even work. Truly, befriending someone who’s killed everyone before them isn’t ideal…but what else can he_ do _? What good would it do to hurt someone who’s obviously hurting more than anyone else? As ridiculous as it sounds, being their friend…might be the only option he has._

_The human steps forward, weapon held at the ready._

_Their movements pull Papyrus from his wandering thoughts, bracing himself for the worst. Making amends with any demons he has—and, sadly, he has quite a few._

_“I see you are approaching,” he says, hand reaching up to tug at the scarf wrapped around his neck. “Are you offering a hug of acceptance?”_

_The human’s smile widens. They fake a nod—and he_ knows _it’s fake, because the glint in their eyes remains._

Well…here goes nothing.

_Feigning ignorance, holding back his fears, he opens his arms, a nervous smile set on his face._

_“I welcome you with—”_

Crack _!_

_The human interrupts, dashing forward and swinging at him._

_Someone steps in the way, taking the blow for him._

_Papyrus is stunned into silence at who it is—and, judging by their expression, so is the human, eyes blown wide in surprise._

_Sans stumbles back, doubled over in pain. He doesn’t cry out; either because of the pain or to keep his brother calm, Papyrus isn’t sure. Blood soaks through his shirt, a blotchy, red target spreading from the wound, confirming what the taller skeleton feared._

_His brother’s dead. Or will be, soon._

_“…Heh.” Sans laughs—or coughs?—looking up at the human with a tense, humorless grin. “Y’know, I expected it to hurt more. Are you losin’ your touch, kid?”_

What? _Papyrus is at a loss for words._ What does he mean? Has…this happened before?

…How many times have they killed him, too?

_The human doesn’t respond, their irises ablaze. They’re furious now, their face tinted red despite the cold, though they manage to keep that unsettling smile, almost mirroring his brother’s._

_It’s…concerning._

_“You know what? Never mind. I don’t care—still hasn’t stopped you from killing everyone, so why does it matter?” Sans turns to him now, already beginning to crumble into nothing. “Sorry for interrupting this time, Paps. Just…jus’ trying to help, ha. Now, uh, how about you do me a favor?”_

_Papyrus’s hands cover his mouth, tears forming in his eyes. He can’t bring himself to speak._

_“…_ Hide _.”_

Fssh _._

_Sans’s dust mixes with the snow, indistinguishable—forgettable._

_The human barely gives it a glance, staring right through Papyrus. Their grin widens, and they raise their fists, readying an attack—_

_* …Papyrus ran away._

That was three hours ago.

Now, with the human slashing their way through Hotland, Papyrus finds himself back at the source of his pain, his _misery_ , unable to move. _Just like when they’d…_

Slowly, Papyrus lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, bending down. He reaches for his brother’s jacket, now submerged in the snow, half-frozen.

He doesn’t pick it up. With Sans’s dust gone, there’s no point in collecting it other than a reminder—and Papyrus already has enough of those.

Instead, he notices something he hadn’t before. A piece of paper, sticking out from one of the jacket’s pockets. The sight of it makes him hesitant at first, his fingers twitching, a frown set into place.

 _…Well_ , he decides, _it’s not like he can stop me from looking, anyway._

Sniffling, Papyrus wipes away his tears and picks the note up, opening it up.

Honestly, he’s not sure what he expected. A joke or a pun, perhaps, knowing Sans—but, given the circumstances, he supposes that such a thing would be inappropriate, even for his brother. He thought that there would be a letter of sorts, a last message written in case something went horribly wrong, but again, he’s wrong.

Instead, written on the page is a single word, that cuts through him more than a blade ever could.

H I D E.

It’s a simple, clear message, one that doesn’t need explanation—and it makes Papyrus’s chest burn. His hands shake.

 _That’s_ it? He thinks. _That’s all he thought to write? He…he didn’t even bother to say goodbye? Not even an “I love you”? I can’t—I can’t_ believe _…!_

His hands shake.

_After everything, he—he…_

His hands shake.

_…I can’t. I can’t do this._

He—

 _I can’t, I can’t,_ I can’t.

_…_

Papyrus drops the letter. Stands.

 _…I can’t…go against his wishes…not now. Not after_ this _._

_…I’m sorry._

And, arms wrapped around himself, Papyrus walks in the direction of the Ruins, looking for a place to hide.

It’s so cold.

 

***

 

It’s dusty.

Papyrus sits underneath a dead tree, red leaves surrounding its base. His face tearstained, knees tucked underneath his chin, he stares off at the house leading back to the rest of the Underground, listening to the distant sounds of birds chirping. His hands are covered in dust, as are the leaves around him.

He hadn’t thought about seeing the human’s wrath first-hand while looking for someplace safe. The Ruins door was open, so, that had seemed like the farthest place from where the human was last seen—but of course, he should have thought about their previous victims.

Like the one he’d found just beyond the door, now lying next to him in the leaves.

 _It’s sad…I didn’t even know her name._ But then again, neither did his brother—hadn’t Sans mentioned a friend behind the door? How close were they?

…Did he know of the fate she’d met?

Papyrus doesn’t want to think about it. He shakes his head, clearing it of any unwanted clutter.

Too bad that’s not how it works.

And so, he sits, lost in thought. Losing himself.

It’s hours—he lost count how many—before he hears chatter. At first, he thinks he’s imagining it—everyone here is dead, aren’t they? Who else is there to speak but him?

And then, he realizes it’s coming from the house.

Papyrus leans back against the tree, eyes turned upwards to the mountain’s ceiling. He can’t muster up enough energy to get up and investigate. _Doesn’t concern me, anyway._

Voices drift from inside the house, carried away with the wind.

“…They say the human’s left the Underground by now…”

“Shame. I was hoping they were dead…”

“Can’t always get what we want, I’m afraid—that’s how life works…”

“…You think the person who lived here is dead?”

“Probably.”

“Sweet. Guess they won’t be missing any of this.”

Papyrus stills. They can’t be serious…and so soon after everyone’s been killed? What kind of person…

“I hear everyone who’s been evacuated are returning home.”

“Better make this fast, then. That human stole a lot of stuff—gotta make up for the loss somehow…”

“…I hear that…”

Slowly, Papyrus pulls himself up on his feet. He can’t let this happen.

He won’t.

“Still sucks everyone’s dead.”

“It was gonna happen eventually…”

“Ha. Guess so…”

“…Do you think those skeletons are dead?”

Papyrus stands in the doorway now. He can hear them clearly now, can see their backs. They’re from Snowdin; he recognizes their attire. Their arms are full of valuables—mostly food, raided from the fridge.

And gardening tools—which, though dulled at the ends, could still make decent weapons.

His face reddens.

“One of them’s not.”

The thieves jump, the items in their hands falling to the ground. They whirl around, ashen-faced, backing away.

But of course, when they see who it is, they relax.

“Aha—boy, you scared us, Papyrus! What’re you doing here in the Ruins?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Papyrus’s gaze falls on the fallen food. “Stealing’s against the law, you know.”

“So’s killing,” one of them shrugs, their partner giving a nod. The nerve of these two. “We’re just preparing for the worst—no harm in that, right?”

“Plenty.” Papyrus steps forward, his shoulders shaking with rage—but, his expression falls. He doesn’t have it in him to fight, especially over something so silly. “…She’s dead, you know.”

The other monsters stay silent. They fidget, bowing their heads in shame, but they don’t dare interrupt him.

“A lot of people in this area are…don’t you think it’s a bit rude to be stealing from them, especially after they were just _murdered_?”

Again, the others don’t respond. Their expressions are full of apprehension, confusion. And fear.

It’s enough to calm the skeleton. If only for a moment.

Papyrus frowns. Sighing, he dips down, collecting some of the food from the ground and shoving them into the other monsters’. “Here. That’s all you get. Now leave.”

“Wait—”

“But—”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Papyrus snaps, glaring them both down. His eyes are watering again, but he doesn’t allow the tears to fall. Yet. “Look—my family and friends are all _dead_. I don’t know about you, but that’s _more_ than enough to somber me up and keep me from stealing from others. _Especially_ the dead.” He pauses, his breaths shaky. He points towards the exit. “I am not myself right now, and I am _not_ leaving this up to debate—either get the _fuck_ out of this house, or get your asses kicked for breaking the law. Your choice.”

The other monsters blink, mouths gaping. They’re so caught off by this reaction that they can’t move.

The skeleton loses what little patience he still has, “ ** _Get out!_** ”

The thieves wince and run, disappearing from sight once they reach the stairs.

Papyrus, exhausted, falls to his knees. The room is thick with dust and sadness.

_…What is wrong with me?_

 

***

 

Months pass. Slowly, people return to their homes, picking up the pieces left behind by the Monster Genocide. At the start, doors are kept locked; windows are bolted; stores are raided, people are attacked. Many fall down and join their loved ones.

An outcry spreads throughout monsterkind, craving revenge. Anger and misery is everywhere.

And, with no government standing in their way, people get what they want. After all, the human souls are still intact—leaving just one more necessary to start another war. One that is well-deserved, given the pain they’ve all had to endure.

A new Royal Guard is made.

Papyrus doesn’t have any inclination of joining it. Nor does he want to join the masses and their grief-driven rage, or be a part of whatever government that’s put into place.

He’s too disgusted by it all to even consider it.

So, he stays in the house in the Ruins. He settles into a routine; wake up, clean, check the Ruins door, go into town, talk to the unknown person residing underneath the tree, cook, sleep. It’s…normal. And it’s not.

It’s for the best, though—going “home” without his brother would be too much, and keeping an eye on the Ruins’ condition is a hell of a lot more productive than what everyone else is doing, being too busy attacking each other to think straight.

Plus, taking care of the neat little house keeps him busy. It’s better than calling Undyne’s cell, knowing he’ll never get a response back.

(Sometimes, he talks out loud to himself. It starts off small, with “It’s nice out today,” and “I hope things go alright this time,” but soon blows up into full on conversations with the air.

(“I bet you’ll like this one, Sans! I found it while out on a walk…”

(“The stones are glowing particularly bright tonight, Sans! I bet the stars look great on the surface. I wish we could see them in person—I already know what I’d wish for…”

(“I’m starting to worry about everyone outside. They’re saying such awful things…and not just about the human. Sans…I’m worried. Maybe…maybe we don’t deserve freedom. You know?”

(“…”

(“Please answer me.”

(He can hear his voice speaking back sometimes. He knows he’s dead, but he can’t help but hope. He can’t help but pretend. It’s all he has.

(It’s always been nicer for him to pretend, anyway.)

Months pass, and everything is the same. He’s fallen into a routine.

Months pass, and everything has changed. It’s not the routine he’s supposed to have.

Though, he has always been curious as to what lies at the end of the Ruins…

 

***

 

Another year passes before he has enough courage to fully explore the Ruins. He looks a lot different than he did nearly two years ago; he looks tired, always slouching and trying (and failing) to cover up the bags under his eyes, recoiling at the slightest indication that someone’s being less than friendly with him. He’s skittish. He’s quiet.

Recently, he’s started to adorn the delta rune, wearing a sweater he’d found lying around. Thankfully, with no dust— _that_ would’ve caused a dilemma. People seem to respect him more with it on than when they did when he wore his battle body, and, after some started to refer to him as “Toriel’s replacement” ( _Who’s Toriel?_ ), he embraced the odd shift in attention. It was…familiar, though he wasn’t sure why.

That, and the few residents in the Ruins are nice. He likes them.

Still, today, he doesn’t say hello as much as he usually does, having one goal in mind. He takes a straight shortcut through the Ruins, walking past everyone he meets, barely giving them a smile. He doesn’t smile much anymore.

_How far do the Ruins go…?_

He has half the mind to ask, but he can’t bring the words to life.

_…Don’t wanna be a burden._

He keeps walking forward, wandering aimlessly. His mind starts to drift.

“I’ve heard word that people want a Royal Guardsman set up in here.”

As always, the words sound, a painful but comforting reminder of his brother’s existence, _“Oh yeah? How’s that gonna blow over, bro?”_

“I dunno. I don’t like it very much…I’d prefer they didn’t. A lot of the current Guard’s mean.”

_“Yeah, I agree. Not as friendly as they used to be—though, uh, they have their reasons.”_

“Their reasons aren’t very good, Sans!”

A glimmer of sunlight from the next room. Papyrus hesitates, standing in the doorway. He’s so far away from the others now, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone judging him for talking to himself. Not that he cares.

_“Well, I’d say they are. It’s better than letting murderous little brats run free.”_

_That doesn’t sound like something Sans would say…_ “H-Hey, don’t say that! Th…the human did bad things. And they weren’t exactly a _good_ person, but they—they can still _become_ one!”

_“Really? Even after killing me?”_

“…You know I didn’t mean it that way, Sans.”

The conversation stops there, the phantom of his brother’s voice falling silent.

Papyrus sighs, stepping into the next room. “Well, this looks like the end of the—whoa…”

Shining down on the earth below, surrounded by stalactites, is a crevice in the mountain’s face. Beneath it is a patch of golden flowers and nothing more, save for Papyrus himself, looking upwards in awe.

 _So_ that’s _what that looks like…_

The air is fresher here. Cleaner. It makes it easier to breathe, besides the ever-present weight tearing at his chest. Still hasn’t figured out how to handle the pain, if he’s being honest.

Stepping forward, the skeleton looks around, utterly alone. “Well,” he mumbles, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips, “that was disappointing. I expected more out of—”

He’s interrupted by voices above him.

“Do you think it hurt?”

In a panic, Papyrus ducks into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall. He holds his breath. _Who’s…?_

Though distant, voices drift from up above, the skeleton overhearing two humans discussing something odd. It takes him a while to understand what they’re talking about.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s a quick drop, from the looks of it—probably did the job.”

“Oh…okay. Ha—it’s funny. I feel…bad. About doing this, I mean.”

“Why? It’s not like we needed another one, anyway. And besides, she’d just be unhappy with us. It’s better this way.”

Papyrus pales. _What—_

“True. Hopefully the next one’s what we want.”

“Hopefully. Now come on—before anyone catches us.”

The voices fade, leaving the skeleton alone once more.

And he becomes increasingly aware of the amount of blood on the golden flowers in front of him.

_…Oh. Oh no._

His bones feel like ice. Any blood he has runs cold.

He doesn’t want to look closer. He can’t.

And yet, he does.

Lying in the flowers is a small human in a blanket. He can’t see her face, given that the blanket obscures it, though he doesn’t need to, either. Her body twists in odd, awkward angles, the front of the blanket soaked through with red.

She doesn’t have a soul. Not anymore.

She’s young. _Very_ young. If he had to guess, he’d say she’s just a baby.

_Oh my God._

_Why—_

_How—_

Papyrus starts crying. He doesn’t mean to—doesn’t _want_ to—but really, it’s understandable, given the scene in front of him and the words he’d heard. Shaking, he kneels down to pick the human up.

She’s still warm.

 _…Why would they_ do _this?_

Papyrus cradles the baby to his chest, numbed by his shock and horror. Still, he doesn’t look at her face. He can’t.

Bitterly, he realizes the human before this one had fallen down the same hole—beginning their reign of terror in this very path of flowers.

Truly, the world can be cruel. _People_ are cruel.

 _…No. No, that’s not right. Not_ all _people are like that._

Papyrus shudders, revolted. He really needs to stop thinking like that.

He can’t give up. Not then, and not now.

“…Come on, little human.”

Forcing a smile, Papyrus stands, sniffling. He doesn’t bother to wipe away the tears this time.

“There’s no point and leaving you here.”

When he reaches the house, he buries the small human near the steps. He almost thought to bury her underneath the tree, but didn’t feel comfortable disturbing the previous resident’s dust.

He’d like to say that that’s the last time he went to that flowerbed.

It’s not.

 

***

 

It’s been four years.

Four years since the human went through; since the Monster Genocide happened. Since his brother died. Since everything went to hell Underground and Papyrus stopped leaving the Ruins.

He wishes he could say that he’s better now, but he’s not. Even as he sits just outside the house’s door, a book in his lap (not his; he’d taken it from someone after overhearing them say it was an “updated” textbook), he’s aware of the pain in his soul and the wariness clinging to his bones. He reads to distract himself, not because he enjoys the material. Monster history always bothered him, even when he was younger; but reading it now, he realizes it’s not because of the content, but the fact it happened to begin with. _Honestly, you think we’d learn to stop trusting humans…_

 _…Too bad that’s the case, now. Oh, well—I always_ did _like being an outlier._

A sudden thought comes to him, and Papyrus perks up, closing the book. _Oh. Right._

He’s late. He needs to get going.

Humming a familiar tune under his breath, Papyrus tucks the book underneath his arm, smoothing out his clothes. “Well, Ruth,” he says, “I guess that’s enough reading for today. Maybe when I get back, I’ll find something I could read to you. I know kids like that stuff—right?”

Of course, the grave beside him gives him no answers. The dead never do.

“…It’s a nice thought, anyway.” He pauses, examining the babe’s resting place closer _. Those flowers are starting to grow here, too…I wonder why?_ “I’ll be back later, alright? I promise, I won’t be long.”

No response. He hopes that she can hear him, wherever she is.

He turns away then, beginning to walk off. No use in sticking around any longer.

He takes the usual route; the shortest, and the busiest. He waves to everyone he sees, smiles as best he can. Some monsters try to have a conversation with him, but, being in a rush, he doesn’t talk for very long. He offers to talk to them later, though, when he comes back through.

He finds the owner of the book and slips it to them when they’re not paying attention—not in the mood for confrontation. He’ll find another copy along the way, so he knows he’s not missing anything.

He walks past the nervous monsters, through the forgotten puzzles, further and further down the path until he reaches the end. Or perhaps it’s the beginning—he doesn’t know.

He pauses briefly at the entrance, bracing himself for the worst. _Stay calm,_ he tells himself. _Don’t be afraid—it’ll be fine…_

Holding his breath, a bone held tightly in his hands, Papyrus steps into the room, his attack held at the ready.

He’s met with an empty room.

And he sighs. Relaxes. His attack vanishes, the skeleton rubbing his skull. _Oh, thank the stars…_

Grunting, he sits down at the back of the room, looking up at the hole resting above him. He sighs.

Another day. One more day without a human. It’s both relieving…and utterly _disappointing_.

But _why_? Why does it upset him so much, to not have to worry about everyone being cut down by yet another person from above? To not have to worry about losing another friend, or someone he knows?

…Why does he want to meet another human so badly?

Honestly, Papyrus doesn’t know. He thinks he may never know the answer, and that’s okay. He’s alright with not knowing, if it means he can enjoy the sunshine for just one more day.

Leaning forward, Papyrus reaches out to the light, pulling his knees to his chest. It’s warm, even from down below. It’s…a nice feeling.

_…Haha. It’s funny. It almost feels like…_

“…Hey, Sans?” Papyrus asks, breaking the silence. He doesn’t like silence, with how much he deals with it.

“ _Yeah, bro?_ ”

“Knock knock.”

“ _Really, Pap? I thought you hated knock knock jokes._ ”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there’?”

“ _…Fine. Who’s there?_ ”

“Sun.”

“ _Sun who?_ ”

“ _Sun_ day, I’m going to prove you were wrong. About the human, I mean.”

“ _…Yeah. You sure are, bro._ ”

“Yep.” He’s choking on tears now, “Knock knock, Sans.”

“ _…_ ”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there’?”

No response.

Papyrus sighs, shaking his head.

_Who’s there?_

_You._

_You who?_

_You’re not._

He wants to say that he’s okay.

He’s not. But he’s getting there.


End file.
